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Month: January 2018

Struggling, dear worst-reader. Struggling. It is so wet here–here in worst-writer country–that one can feel it in the bone(s). In fact, one of the warnings from all the extreme weather has been to watch out for falling trees. Parks have been closed, don’t you know. The ground is so wet from so much rain that trees tear out easily from gusting winds galore. But let that not stop us, eh. For our path is set, the journey we must make, or maybe not. And so…

Headless Mac Pro (fiddling with it due to indoor out-of-weather preoccupation)

That is a tree branch that broke off in a storm gust last week (and I just missed it falling)

That is how Germans close park gates (to prevent people from being hit by trees)

Those are the cables that lead to the Matrix (or they power the German train system that has shut down because of heavy winds)

But I used to have great confidence in understanding. Now take a phrase like “father forgive them; they know not what they do.” This may be interpreted as a promise that in time we would be delivered from blindness and understand. On the other hand, it may also mean that with time we will understand our own enormities and crimes, and that sounds to me like a threat.

-Saul Bellow, Henderson The Rain King

I don’t know what came first, dear worst-reader. The title of this worst-post or the quote in it. Nomatter. Move on. And…

In order to cope with the two Ms (monotony & mendacity) of growing up in Suburban Hell of my beloved #Americant, I participated–at the duress of my broken family–in two organised sport activities. One of those activities was tennis. And, if I recall correctly, I was actually ranked within the top-100 players of my state during the tennis season of which I participated. Of course, let it be known, I couldn’t serve worth a hoot. Yet I was “ranked”. Yea, that says a lot about organised sports back then–long before the inheriting, under-achieving classes came to be what they’ve become and thereby given us #Trump. But I digress.

The second sport I participated in was Football. And I don’t mean football of the round ball kind. I played American football–where the ball is the proper shape. The reason for the shape? When that ball flies through the air it is either a bullet or a duck–and you better know what you’re doing when it comes your way. And so… There is clarity in (some) sports, dear worst-reader. That clarity is in how a ball can fly like a bullet through the sky.

Although I did participate in a few other sports here and there, e.g., lacrosse, baseball, wrestling, fencing and girls, football is the one that stands out the most in my worst-memory. Ask me if I regret wasting my time on it, I do. Then again, the sport did teach me a bit about participating with others in a so-called “team”. It really is a shame how my beloved #Americant (sport) and her cult of the entrepreneur (the team) have warped the idear of the game in recent years. “Team” for me had a different meaning once. That was the only thing worthwhile about playing football. No a total waste, that is.

Now get this: I learned a few other things while playing American football. For example, my coach used to tell us when we were doing the cardio portion of our daily practice–and we watched those soccer guys in the field next to us run like gazelles all day–that soccer is a game for communists. Can you believe that, dear worst-reader? Here’s how you teach youngsters–back in the day:

My coach added something about balls shouldn’t be perfectly round anyway. “Nothing is perfect. Check your own,” he said. Of course, being the prepubescent worst-writer I was, during the last two years of wasting mind and body playing football, I actually believed that soccer players were communists. Heck, when I approached some of the guys on the soccer team, I would even ask them:

Say, Comrade, hoist any sickle and spades lately?

But. Again. I digress.

All this worst-talk about communists brings me to my latest read. It is a book by Comrade Richard Wolff. Comrade Wolff is a “professor of economics”. Comrade Wolff has a somewhat interesting presence on the Interwebnets, too. Much of his work can be found at http://www.democracyatwork.info and he even has a monthly podcast called Economics Update where he talks about all things-worst (man to occupy my heart) in this world of capitalism run amok.

At first I didn’t think much about reading this book. There was/is enough of/from Comrade Wolff online already. But then something he said itched me. That itch was Wolff’s academic POV of all-things economic. Better put, he writes and talks a lot about economics as though… Now hold a sec. Get ready for it. Sit down if you got a weak ticker.

Comrade Wolff talks about economics as if it is science.

Now. Did you get that? Let me repeat it just in case, dear worst-reader. According to worst-writer, economics ain’t no science. Instead it is (should be) an academic field within The Arts. But let’s not get too far off the issue of what itches me.

There is one topic that Comrade Wolff keeps comping back to over and over: He is obsessed with the pseudo economic science of Greece and Germania. That’s the real reason I broke down and bought this book. It’s also the reason I read it over a two month period. It’s not that it is hard to read. It is. It’s just that it is boring, too. Boring as boring can be. Boring as wrongly placed academia can be. But then again, so too are all things that try to be scientific that should instead be artsy. And guess what happened after I finally finished the book? Comrade Wolff’s obsession with Greece and Germania is still a mystery to me. Gosh darn it! I hate it when I pick the wrong friggin book!

Allow me to summarise my issue (itch) with Comrade Wolff’s obsession. Comrade Wolff says that Germania is a locomotive. He also says that Greece is a caboose. In case you’re unaware, the caboose is at the back of a choo-choo-train. A caboose is a special, single car that in olden times served as a kind of housing facility for those who worked on the train as it crossed landscapes. And so… Germania is the front of the train and Greece… Well, ok, you get the metaphor.

Btw, if you were to ask me why I expatriated to the EU my third1 most important reason for doing so would be because of the fascination of witnessing the catastrophe that is an effort to unite something that should never be united as though it were a train crossing some heartily confused landscape. Either that or I am a freak for Schadenfreude?

In #Eurowasteland where the choo-choo-train metaphor can only go so far, that which determines everything… Is the fcuking caboose. -worst-moi after living in this Euro shithole for the last 25 yrs.

Now wait a sec. Comrade Wolff says it another way. Here, try this (pseudo-paraphrase):

The #Eurowasteland caboose is literally a fcuk machine that rides the train. The train is made up of voyeur, perverted nation-states that like gawking at the fcuk-car from the back. And who’s the biggest voyeur of them all? That’s right…

Fcuking Germans!

In his podcast Economic Update I’ve listened to Comrade Wolff lambast the Germans because Greece is an economic disaster. That is, Greece is a disaster, according to Wolff, because of the Germans. IMHO, Comrade Wolff is wrong. Greece’s problems have nothing to do with Germans. Greece has problems because of Greeks. Comrade Wolff likes to focus on banks and bankers and how they take advantage of European pions–all of which is lead by dastardly Germans.

Whaaaaaa?

Worst-writer’s explanation of the Greece problem is much simpler–and much clearer. To paraphrase the great oral tradition now being propagated by #Americants in the form of #Trump: Europe is a shithole and it’s full of shiteaters.

That’s Greece’s problem.

In order to understand Greece and thereby the entirety of #Eurowasteland, aka, Greedland, all one has to do is look at what Europe has given the world. From the Bronze Age to the Renaissance and beyond, we can all thank Europe for mass, systematic, unadulterated greed. Luckily, in recent times, there has been something done to try and mitigate this great gift.

Since WW2 (or maybe it was WW1–who the fcuk is counting?) Europe’s gift to the world has been split into two schools of thought. There is the Anglo-American school (of greed) and there is the Germanic school (of greed). If one looks at the social and political structures of the various confused nations that make up Greedland–from locomotives to the cabooses–it’s easy differentiating between these two schools of greed. It’s also easy to figure out who’s the bigger or biggest Schadenfreud-ist.

Let’s summarise, shall we?

Greece is, out of choice, part of the Anglo-American school (of greed). It is failing miserably as a nation-state because of this choices. Therefore it doesn’t matter if Greece were in the EU, off the coast of the UK or stuck somewhere between Alabama and Montana. Because of its choices, Greece is where it is today. More importantly it doesn’t matter who or what state bank leant money to whom. Greece would be where it is no matter where it was at the end of any train–considering how it has traversed the landscape. Btw, most of southern Europe is failing in the same way as Greece. Those countries too have chosen the Anglo-American greed $hitshow. Which begs the question: Is there enough space at the end of the shit-train for all these fcuking cabooses?

And now for the other school of greed.

Pause. Oh God. Brace Yourself. Here it comes.

Those fcuking Krauts.

The Germania school of greed is not about Germans of old. Can you imagine how things would be if they still wore those stupid, pointy helmets and everybody was named Gunter Leckmichamarsch? No. We’re dealing with new Germans here. And these new Germans got a few things up their slimy sleeves, don’t you know. That’s right. The slime is the one thing that was never defeated in any of those dumba$$ wars, don’t you know. In fact, most of northern Europe likes the slime that is in the German sleeve. Hence northern stoic Europe, compared to the lazy south, is doing just fine. With that in mind, what’s your favourite school of greed?

One shouldn’t look at the caboose to see how the $hitshow train is running. Also, Greece is too minuscule to use as an example of the failures of capitalism. The fact that old Greeks have hoarded everything and thereby practically choked the country to death doesn’t make it an example of what or what not to do. It might just be better (easier) to focus more on human nature–which transcends all of the above–even Comrade Wolff. Again: economics is not science.

Then again, Greece is a good example for something else. Capitalism is nature’s best system for dealing with greed. For Comrade Wolff and so many others like him, everything is easier to decipher when lumped together and thrown into one basket. I guess that’s why I prefer artsy over science (science being the basket). Even though I can sympathise with some of Comrade Wolff’s ranting and raving against capitalism–for I’ve given Marx’s Das Capital a glance or three–he doesn’t really offer any viable alternative other than what all others offer: scapegoating.

Anywho. As usual, I’m off subject. This was supposed to be a quick worst-post about Comrade Wolff’s book:

Capitalism’s Crisis Deepens: Essays on the Global Economic Meltdown.

Wanting to understand Comrade Wolff’s POV regarding Greece was the reason I decided to give this book a read. (Un)fortunately this book only substantiates my belief that economics is a pseudo-science.

And so…

Is there an alternatives to the greed $hitshow (capitalism) we’re all living in today? If so, it’s not in this collection of essays. And. NO! Coops and workers taking over the system isn’t an alternative–which is mostly what Comrade Wolff proposes. If, on the other hand, you’re still kind of suffering from the duck-and-cover trauma of the 60s and 70s and hard-up on avoiding all things communist, then you don’t need to read this book. With that in mind, I’m gonna continue checking the Interwebnets for whatever Comrade Wolff has to offer. Who knows. If he keeps at it, he might figure out an alternative someday.

Good luck with that, Comrades.

Rant on.

-T

I’m sure the first and second can be found somewhere at worstwriter.com ↩︎

Almost didn’t make it, dear worst-reader. If it would have come to pass, this would have been the second movie I rented on iTunes but never watched. Luckily I had a few days left when I hit the play button last night. By-the-buy, iTunes (Germany) gives you around 30 days to watch a movie once you hit that rent-button. Once you hit the play-button, you have forty-eight hours to watch your movie. What the other movie was that I rented but didn’t watch I can’t remember. Apple got .99€ from me all the same. But that’s all butter under the bridge. And speaking of bridges…

How does a blah-blah movie about an a$$hole end up being a mediocre film about the invention of fast-food? Oh wait. This movie isn’t about fast-food. This movie is about a shinning star of #americant business acumen. Right? (Sarcasm off.) Well, the one thing to keep in mind about this Harvey Weinstein production is, like a severe burn on the inside of your fingers, all you gotta do to help things be less excruciating is to put some butter on it. Butter makes everything better. Except in the fast food industry on account butter is too expensive to work with–almost like real milk was too expensive for Milkshakes (for a while).

The Founder is the story of how Ray Kroc screwed two guys out of a really interesting idear about how to feed a hungry nation of automatons–most of whom are only interested in not having to cook a meal. Other than avoiding the reality of showing the world how much of an a$$hole Kroc was, this movie actually spends the first twenty minutes making one feel good about the invention of fast-food. Oh, and if you’re so inclined and only have a few months left in your MBA studies at the University of Cocksuckers, this is one great film to watch if you need a case study that is about nothingness.

Although there are moments of reality regarding the a$$holery of the pyramidal franchise business which Kroc sucked up to, this movie gets lost between showing the real founders of fast-food magic and the cut throat reality of making more than a buck on someone else’s dime. So I guess, in a righteous universe where wrongs are outed, this movie could be called Watch Out For A$$holes Because You’re Living In A World Of Them. And with that in mind, here is worst-writer’s take on this movie in-short: there is no redeeming value in either the movie or what Ray Kroc achieved in his life. And if you want to know how to make a buck off subject matter with no redeeming value, ask Harvey Weinstein.

Rant on.

-T

PS The performances of the actors in this movie is outstanding. The writing though sucks batballs and the only thing that could have saved it is if worst-writer had written it.

Subtitle: What The Ancients Forgot In Their Writing Of The Dystopian Future We Live In Now.

Since we are in this place dear worst-reader, this dystopia place so well designed and executed (but by whom), let’s have a moment or thrice to worst-write about fear, i.e., that which rules (us). I’m not one to say I fear nothing. I am afeared aplenty. Snakes, for example. I can’t stand them. Small and tight spaces is something else I can’t stand (platzangst). And then there’s my fear of height. Actually I don’t really suffer from a fear of heights. Instead I have a fear of distance. Specifically, I fear distance between my feet and the ground–and, in some cases, I fear the distance between smart people and stupid people. (But that’s all another post.) And then there’s one last fear I shall not forget. Perhaps this is the most important fear of them all. That’s right, dear worst-reader, I fear The Female. Better put, I fear the wrath of woman scorned. Yea, baby. Now that’s something to run away from–unless, of course, you’re a fan of comb-overs. And while on the topic of fear (and comb-overs), have a look at this to begin the process of dealing with the dystopia you’ve been putting-up:

Nationally, Clinton picked up 54 percent of women voters compared with Trump’s mere 42 percent. But Trump outperformed Clinton among white women, winning 53 percent of voters in that demographic. Drilling down further, he beat Clinton among white women without college degrees by 27 points. In the three states that decided the election — Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, and Michigan — that margin was enough to send Trump to the White House.1

The best way I’ve always found to describe fear, other than worst-writing about my beloved #americant and/or free-to-be-stupid people, is to worst-write about those who are so much better than worst-moi at doing it, e.g.: George Orwell and his wonderfully appropriate novel Nineteen Eightyfour. Specifically, understanding fear is best done by considering the fear of Winston Smith. As the story goes, it is revealed, after Winston meets a girl, that he is afraid of rats. Now, obviously, in the real world, in a world of man-rule (and not patriarchy miss-rule2), no man would freak out in front of a fresh lover when a rat pokes its head of a hole in her wall3. In fact, to prove his worthiness and to get another good fcuk out of her, a real man would kill that fcuking rat toot-suite and immediately after washing his hands (of the mess), do the nasty-deed again and thereby impose upon his new lover his obsession with other useful orifices. But enough about worst-writer’s fantasies.

Orwell had to offer up something in his story to show how fear is used to control the automatons that enable the system. I guess rats were (are) a good place to start. What’s missing in the story, though, is the automatons. Lucky for us, dear worst-reader, we live in times where we don’t have to look any further to find the automatons that have caused our dystopia. They are among us, we among them. And so. The necessity of the state to inflict fear as a means of control has kinda shifted in the last few decades. Reason? Fear is now manifested in our inability to look under the comb-overs that rule us. And not just President Stupid’s comb-over. The reality is, the rat in the story means nothing. Winston’s face being eaten by that rat also means nothing. And another thing that means nothing is the love that Winston betrays–as though Orwell gives a hoot about love. Indeed. What Orwell is dealing with is how the world (and those in it) so willingly allow themselves to be ruled by what’s under their comb-overs.

But I’m almost off subject. This is supposed to be yet another worst-post about worst-writer’s fear(s). And you know what motivated that fear? The women in the pic above that voted for president comb-over and the pic of the spider. Which one afears me more? And keep this in mind. Of all of the things I fear, one of them will NEVER be the spider. The reason for that is because I know the people that have enabled, facilitated our dystopia. You know them, too, dear worst-reader. Just take a moment. Take a deep breath. Feel the world clog up the lungs of your mind. Take a deep look at the spiders and snakes and distances (between us) that cause all the fear. And say with me: I am not afraid of spiders. I am only afraid of what that spider looks like, what it carries on its back, the texture that makes it what it is. It reminds so much of the mind-set of a woman scorned, of president stupid and of what’s underneath that which should be covered–forevermore.

All hail THE COMB-OVER.

Rant on.

-T

PS While I’m on yet another rant about blaming the women-folk for electing president stupid, the third pic above I thought would be appropriate. Maybe it’s not. Whatever.

The scene: The entire story is shot in black & white with maybe a little silver superimposed here or there. It’s also a time period where the earth’s atmosphere can no longer sustain atmospheric high pressure. This climate situation is caused by a perpetual state of atmospheric lows. This is referred to as climate status quo (as opposed to climate change1). Put another way, clouds have become the sky for at least two generations and although there’s not much rain, a blue sky is rare.

The protagonist of the story is a pirate-like character that wears a jalopy suit. A jalopy suit is a suit made of remnants of other suits. This would be something like a suit jacket that has been pieced together. The arms, the lapels, the pocket trimmings etc. don’t match. Of course, the pants do not match the jacket and are held to the protagonists waist by a string–a belt being a rare item. A vest would also go well with this outfit–something perhaps with a bit more colour than the jacket and pants. Our protagonist wears two different but very fancy patent leather shoes and he is often attempting to keep them clean or unscathed from the rough, almost moon-like dull silver terrain. He also wears non-matching socks, which can be seen due to two different legs of the pants that were sewn together.

Our protagonist is the head of a gang of young people that call themselves the Interfacers. Nobody knows anybody’s real name; each is addressed with a variety of pronouns. Pronouns include:

Every once-a-once the protagonist is called Depp as he has somewhat of a Hollywood swagger and the others thought it reminiscent of a Pirates of the Caribbean movie poster they once saw.

The sole purpose of the gang is to salvage smartphone junk. Discarded, broke and junk smartphones serve as a form of currency on the black market that makes-up their eco-system. Most of the gang act subservient to Depp because he’s found a way to break down smartphones into its components and thereby extract the rare earth elements that are used to make them. This is a much more profitable form of smartphone scavenging. There are other gang members that aren’t so subservient and they are a threat to Depp.

The gang is pursued by other gangs not only in search of Depp’s cache of junk smartphones but also his secret to getting to the rare elements inside them, i.e. the metal used to make the innards of the phones. The gang has never seen his secret method. Instead he shares the wealth he’s acquired with them–as long as they find smartphones that he can use to breakdown. To keep his gang small and unique he turns away most stragglers even if they bring a good smartphone in exchange for getting into the gang.

Depp has a price on his head set by local eco-system administrators.

One day while showing the gang around a newly discovered heap of smartphones, one of the gang makes an unusual discovery. An actual working smartphone is found in the heap. When this is given to Depp he promises everyone a bonus and a special evening meal and then goes on a tirade imitating Steve Jobs as though, using the found smartphone, he was giving the original iPhone introduction from the year 2007. During his tirade, though, his attention is drawn to the phone. On the phone a video of a little boy–assumed to be its owner–has made an old fashion video blog, i.e., a Vlog. In the Vlog the boy is doing a mock unboxing and review of a bicycle. Depp realises that the video is current. Then, suddenly, in a fit of desperation Depp struggles to turn off the smartphone. Not understanding what’s going on, the gang becomes restless. For some in the gang this is the first working device they’ve ever seen.

Depp has seen many functioning smartphones before but after struggling to turn this one off he realises he’s made a big blunder. Before he can deal with the situation he’s gotten himself in another group of young men appear in the wings. Moments later Rival appears. Rival is the leader of another gang. Depp deals with his blunder toot suite in an act of technical prowess that his gang has yet to witness. Even the other gang is in awe of what Depp is doing. (What is Depp doing?)

Rival explains that the phone was a setup, that he placed the phone to be found and he set it up with a tracer. The only problem is, Depp, knowing that he screwed up and should have known better, also realises that the smartphone was just a find by his rival and begins to question the video of the boy in search of a bicycle. Rival is confused by the video–because he never saw it which tells Depp that Rival is probably working for someone else. Depp finds a way out of this predicament (blunder) by resorting to an old trick that fools Rival and his gang. To the surprise of those around him, Depp smashes the phone on the ground and refuses to take it with him for salvage. Depp’s gang is shocked.

Keep in mind, dear worst-reader, Bicycles no longer exist in this eco-system because all available metal is used only for upper-class consumption. Since children are exposed to technology from birth there has been no interest in outdoor activity or actual playing outside. The video of the bicycle is more than a curiosity for all.

The trick Depp uses to get rid of his rival has two parts. First , as previously stated, he smashes the phone on the ground. This, of course, destroys the device but more importantly makes it no longer trackable. It’s also a gesture on the part of the current possessor that he forfeits his possession (of the device). This shocks his rival who subsequently falls on the phone with his whole body and Depp’s gang watch in wonder. This scene is an example of the fundamental rules governing this eco-system. This is a system where finder keepers, losers weepers or possession is nine-tenths of the law rules3.

Also shocked, but still loyal even though the gang assume an evening’s meal has been wasted, Depp’s gang anxiously follow him as he leaves the scene while Rival worships what remains of the device. The second part of Depp’s reversing his blunder is that he managed to copy the video from the phone he destroyed. And not just the video but also the contents of the phone that his rival used to track him. Here it is revealed that Depp has had a working smartphone on his person unknown to his gang. As Depp studies what his Rival did to track him, his gang watch in utter amazement.

Using that phone, he was able to copy the video of the boy mock-unboxing the bicycle. In a grand gesture, he actually gives the precious phone to his gang to watch the video as he’s seen enough, adding that the battery is about to run out, so they should enjoy it and remember it as best they can. There is no way to recharge batteries of phones in this eco-system.

Once the battery is drained, Depp wants to take it to break it down. The gang members, although appreciative and submissive want to 1) stop Depp from breaking down the device to get to its parts and 2) want to know more about bicycles. But Depp insists that in order for them to survive they must break down the phone. Having sacrificed the other phone to get the rival gang off their trail was a great cost. “Times are getting tougher,” Depp explains. “There are issues of consumables,” Depp says. Is this a moment of mutinous behaviour from a few gang members?

The moment of mutiny is broken up when a straggler comes along with a new boxed smartphone. The straggler, being so naive and unintelligent, doesn’t realise that the phone he carries is so special. He only wants something for it because the box is so pretty. The gang and Depp of course are skeptical, thinking that this too is another trap from their rival gang. Depp concludes that something else is going on. Two phones in one day–this one still in the original box! Depp tries to convince his gang that a functioning smartphone is not as valuable as the rare metals inside of it. Reason: 1) they have no means to charge the device and 2) there is no cellular network for calling. Or is there?

This new phone amazes Depp. Reason: it is actually a new phone. He questions where the man found it. The man points off and says like: …there, over there, near a pile of wall remnants. Although it does have a few scratches and some other wear & tear, it is the most beautiful phone Depp has ever seen. But before becoming obsessed with it, Depp also realises that there is something even more special about it. It not only has a full battery but it is also showing a connection to a cellular network. Depp has lots of experience with these devices but has never made a call with one.

Depp begins to investigate how the guy came across this phone. He wants to know everything about where and how he found it. The guy says it was just lying on the side of a road, near a wall. What does the boy/man mean by “wall”? “A wall? What wall,” Depp asked. “Was there a car?” The boys start rambling on about the cars they love that they’ve only seen in pictures and posters.

Depp has two great fears. One is facing up to the untruths he’s told his gang. The other is the upperclass. He’s faced them before when he was a child. And so, like new-fangled Robin Hood Depp goes on a quest to find a bike. The problem is, there are no more bikes because humanity reset its priorities and gave up on the simplest inventions when the smartphone boom took over humanities mind.

All known resources are now only used for smartphone production.

The irony of the smartphone name. As the devices got better the ones using them got dumber.

There is a codec of sorts in this eco-system where bartering and trading are considered best behaviour activity. The consequence of cheating has harsh punishment dealt out by sanctioned vigilante justice ↩︎

In an attempt to figure out Apple’s really, really krappy cloud service, iCloud, I finally hooked up with icloud.com today. Seriously. I’ve never been to this part of the Apple universe before. I guess I always preferred to do all my stuff mostly through a Mac and every once-a-once my phone. I had two reactions to this experience. First, it reminded me of e-World. Anyone out their remember e-World? Boy was that a terrible effort on the part of a company that would soon become the most profitable greed show ever to be run by automatons. The second thing I thought of was where’s my MacBook Air in the My Devices section (see pic above). Then I remembered that in order to get through the BS of Apple’s really, really krappy cloud service this morning, I unchecked my MacBook Air from the service. Is that why it’s not in the My Devices list? Not that it really matters. Wait. There should also be another Apple TV in there and a friggin Mac Mini. Oh my. So it’s probably better that I forget that. Instead, time to remember e-World.